Tom Riddle's Diary
by bookwormtsb
Summary: Pre being the darkest wizard of all time Tom Riddle was a fairly ordinary boy from an inner city orphanage with an appetite for trouble.
1. Chapter 1

Tom Riddle's Diary

Light streamed through the thin fluttering material that was Tom's curtains, they had once been white but were quickly going an ugly and bobbled grey. Tom Riddle's face was resting on his thin lumpy pillow, his breathing heavy and shallow, his hair was flopped across his forehead and his dark curls strewed across the pillow. His chiselled features were older than his years, the sleeping Tom Riddle could have passed for a skinny thirteen year old, even if he was a tall and slender ten year old. The weak watery sunlight danced hand in hand with shadows across the sleeping boy's face illuminating his long ebony eyelashes which played long shadows across his high, well-defined cheek bones. He stirred by some reason unknown to a third party, his eyelashes fluttered and finally opened to reveal a pair of dark, almost black eyes they shone with intelligence and twinkled with a mischievous gleam, he crinkled his forehead worriedly and he rubbed his right hand around his neck where there were small purple bruises the shape of fingers. With looks like his Tom should have been popular with all the girls in the orphanage and with his smarts and knack of charming people he should have been friends with the boys, instead he was bullied at least twice a day during the two breaks that the orphanage provided. Riddle pulled off his greying t-shirt which had stuck to his back with sweat and threw it in a corner, he made his way over to the full length mirror and examined his naked body, clad only by a pair of boxers. He had long willowy muscles and he was very pale, ghost like even but none the less strikingly handsome. He stepped up closer to the mirror and examined his neck the edges of the bruises were beginning to fade to a yellow colour that was still prominent amongst his milky complexion.

He had been ambushed yesterday behind the large bins by the kitchen, Callum Ward and Michael Forster, two thirteen year olds who were the bullies of St. Patricks Orphanage, they liked to spend their free time terrorising kids younger then themselves and their favourite victim was none other than Tom Riddle.

Tom dressed quietly into a white shirt and faded blue and red tie, his grey trousers were far too short for him and frayed at the bottom. He pulled on socks and shoes both of which contained holes. The small brass clock on the sideboard spluttered into action as the hands reached the time of 6 o' clock. It was still dark outside but there was the faintest hint of mauve brushed across the smoggy London skyline.

Downstairs was quiet and every footstep along the grubby hall reverberated and echoed loudly, he began to tiptoe to the kitchen. Hopefully Alexandra the 18 year old who worked in the kitchens would be up, she always let him sit by the hearth and the heat from the roaring fire would warm him up. Then she'd pass him down some food on a grubby plate or napkin and say with a rye smile, "I really shouldn't be doing this Tom!" Tom expected it to come this morning, but alas, the usual monologue about how Alexandra was sinning didn't reach his ears. "It's your birthday Tom! I think you deserve some cake!" She plonked down a chipped and worn looking ceramic plate with a single slither of cake, it was Victoria Sponge right on the cusp of going stale but it was a huge treat for the skinny boy, Alexandra had iced carefully, '_Happee Birfday Tom' _in green icing. He grinned and took a big bite of the cake. Maybe this birthday wasn't going to be too bad.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, though I really wish I did :'( **

**Read and Review please!**

Tom was lounging in bed fully dressed. He was throwing up a scuffed red leather cricket ball and then catching it in his right hand. The ball belonged to Billy Pryor. The ball turned in the air and Tom dived forwards in an impressive catch landing on the tangled white bed sheets with a muffled thump. Dark hair fell across his eye attractively, Riddle reached up and pushed his shaggy fringe back. Tom rolled off the bed and stood up he walked over to the mirror, he wiped off a thin layer of dust with his index finger and studied his reflection. A thin boy of pallid colouring stared back with dark searching eyes, The boy was a mess, a deep gash above his dark eyebrow sent a trickle of blood down his temple and a red lips were cracked and dry with a deep cut probably caused my a fist on the right side of his bottom lip. "They'll pay, all of them." He whispered through gritted teeth and a flash of red passed across his dark iris. "They'll pay one day. I'm coming back for them, and when I do they better run, because I will not have mercy." Tom's face was contorted in anger and immediately all of his attractive features were gone and the ten year old looked almost inhuman. Then as quickly as it had come Riddle's face was back to normal. It was almost as though a cool mask had slotted into place and the handsome pallid boy was back once again.

Three sharp knocks came at the thin oak door. Tom gave an athletic leap pair of black eyes made his features look even more hollowed out. The boy's full

across the bed and sauntered over to the door. "Hello?" His voice was nervous but by no means timid. In fact his tone said, "Reveal yourself, or else!" Riddle grasped the cold rusted metal door-knob and turned it. The door swung open to reveal sandy haired and sheepishly good looking Thomas Pryor. "Um, er, yeah I was just kind of wondering if you had my brother's, Billy, that is cricket ball yeah?" Thomas Pryor stumbled over his words and flashed a grin that brightened his features, he was good-looking, popular and endearingly dim-witted. "No," Tom sneered "Why would I have your brother's ball?"

"I- I'm not sure Tom?"

"I get it. Blame the weird kid. It's as though he isn't bullied enough!" Riddle's voice was a throaty snarl and his face was so close to the other boy's that Riddle could make out his hazel eyes flecked with lime and the bead of sweat that was running down his temple. Thomas drew his eyes away first and he scanned the room. "Hey what's that?" Thomas pushed his palm into Riddle's chest and Tom collapsed snarling to the floor. Thomas raked his hands through the bed sheets. His eyes settled on a red item in the bed and he pulled it out. "Aha!" Thomas raised it in his clenched fist. It took him several moments to realise that he wasn't holding a cricket ball and instead a bloodied handkerchief. "Happy now?" Tom growled with a broken note to his voice.

"Sorry Tom, I never expected you to-"

"Stop, get out." Tom stared straight into the older boy's eyes with a cool searching gaze.

Tom sat down on his bed and the mattress sunk a few inches the springs straining. He turned the cricket ball over in his hands. Where had it come from? One minute there had been nothing but a bloodied and stained red handkerchief and now there was the scuffed cricket ball with the initials BP crudely carved. He threw it up in the air and caught it. What had he done back there? It seemed very much like magic. Tom had once passed a magician on the street, who had done a similar trick. No, magic didn't exist, It was all tricks and hidden pockets. He pushed these thoughts to the back of his head.

Snow covered leaves bristled in the cold icy wind. Tom drew his hand-me-down felt coat closer around his neck. Shouts of joy came from the small hill where children from the orphanage jumped and slid down on the thick blanket of snow. Callum Ward was sitting under a large birch tree with a group of children Callum was talking rapidly and they were watching him with rapt expressions, one boy nodded and said something to which Callum grinned evilly. Tom looked down at his feet which were clad by a pair of thin leather boots with scrapes and holes from generations of use. "Oi. Riddle." Tom looked up, Callum Ward was a tall muscular brunette with attractive features. He didn't look like a bully, no, maybe if Callum had parents and a good life he could have been different. Beside him was the red headed lanky frame of Michael Forster. Michael was the brains of their duo. He was the one who chose who to beat up, why they would beat them and then lie their way out of it with the teachers and carers. "What?" Tom said sharply looking up. His eyes locked with a pair of steely ones and a fist contacted with the side of his head. Tom stumbled back small bright pinpricks of light clouding his vision. He fell back and his shoulders made contact with the ground. Riddle sat up his head spinning. He mustered all the hatred and power and directed it towards Michael. `There was a loud crack and a snow laden branch spiralled downwards. Callum groped at the fabric of Michael's coat attempting to pull him out of the way. Michael twisted away from Callum. The branch landed hard on Michael's shoulder and he was forced to his knees. "Aghh!" Michael landed in the knee deep snow making an indent of his side-profile. Tom stared at the boy writing in agony and fled. He ran as fast as he could. He wrenched open the side door of the orphanage. Along the hallway and up the steep staircase. He was just about to open the door to his room when Billy Pryor stepped in front of him. Billy looked like a dark version of his brother. He was tall and lean with messy brown hair that stood up at the back like a duck's tail. He had bright blue eyes and a crooked grin but now his expression was stony. "I saw what you did out there Tom."

"Yeah, and what did I do then?"

"You made that branch hit Michael."

"Prove it." Tom pushed his face up to Billy's.

"I don't have to."

"Yeah? Why's that then?"

"Because Mrs. Cole believes me."

Billy stumbled back after this sentence. He had seen a flash of red in the other boy's dark eyes.

"Bad move Billy."

Billy flinched as though he had been stung by the other boy's words. Tom pushed Billy aside and made his way into his room.

_He let me go? Just like that. No trouble, he's planning something. _Billy thought and vowed to watch his back for the next few days.

Tom sat back down on the same spot on the bed. He knew one thing for sure. Tom Riddle was different.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, sob sob. **

Chapter 3

Riddle took a seat in the straight-backed wooden chair opposite Mrs. Cole. He had never looked better. His skin was unblemished and looked like porcelain, his dark hair was longer and his curls were layered, his eyes however still had a slightly haunted look in their depths. The cut above his eyebrow had long since healed but there was still the ghost of a scar and bruises were still dotted over his collarbones. He was wearing a dark green shirt and a pair of navy corduroy trousers. "Tom?" Tom looked up at the older woman. She had light blue eyes and a kind motherly face with creases before her years. Her brown hair which was streaked with silver was tied in a low bun with a worn piece of string.

"Tom, did you make that branch hit Michael Forster?" her tone was calm yet accusative. "No. I didn't M'am."

"Oh?" She cocked an eyebrow and gestured for him to explain.

"I was sitting by the tree. And then Callum and Michael approached me. One of them hit me, I fell backwards. When I stood up, I'm not sure. It may have been the weight of the snow. But a branch broke. Callum tried to pull Michael out of the way, but Michael shook him off. The branch hit his shoulder. It wasn't me."

Mrs. Cole shook her head slowly at the boy. He raised his dark eyes to her watery blue ones. It was a lost cause. "Tom get to your bedroom. No supper tonight." She said sharply. Tom was outraged but knew better to argue and instead left the room quietly.

Later Tom was lying on his bed reflecting over the meeting. Billy Pryor was going to get it. Why had he gone running to Mrs. Cole? Tom pulled back the covers of his bed and slid in. Tom thumped his head against the pillow in an attempt to get comfortable. He tugged gently on a lock of his hair, something he was prone to doing under stress. He couldn't hurt Billy directly. It would be too obvious. Tom pondered. _But he could hurt someone close to Billy. _The thought had come as his brain was beginning to become sliuggish and tired. Now he was wide awake. Tom crept out of bed and opened his bedroom door a slowly as possible, a high pitched squeak bellowed from the hinges.

Tom pressed his back against the thin plaster wall and held his breath. Boots thudded along the hall, the steps far apart, long legs, the floorboards creaked loudly. It was a man. Tom could see a slither of moonlight drawn like silver pencil across the dusty floor. It showed his toes peeking out. It was too late to slide his feet back to against the skirting board. "Riddle?" the voice sounded like it had meant to be whispered but instead came out in a throaty shout. Tom heard his name slurred. It was Mr. Tavner, his bearded face ruddy with ale. Tom braced his self and stepped into the weak light of the hall. Tavner's tawny mess of hair stuck up, his collar was crumpled and a mark of rouge and lipstick on his cheek. "There yer are boy." He said pressing his face close to Tom's ear. Tavner couldn't have been older than 30 but his face was creased as though it had experienced more years than necessary and his eyes had the look of someone who's seen more than they should have. "What are you doing out of bed sonny?"

"Nuffin sir." Tom answered immediately.

"Yar and I'm a jar of pickles lad. What d'ya think yer doin' outta bed at this bleeding time o' night?" Tom looked up sullenly.

"I ent doing nuffin sir. You woke me up."

For a man the state of drunkenness that Tavner was he moved with great speed as his hand smacked Tom's cheek. Riddle's neck twisted with the force and he staggered backwards, the blush of a hand print spread outwards. "Feck!" Tom cursed under his breath. Then he stood up a little straighter. He thrust his chin forward and his shoulders back and fixed a steely gaze on Tavner's face. "Now if you don't mind _sir_. I'd appreciate if you'd let me go to sleep now." With that he took a step back and shut the door in Tavner's face. "Ow..oh feckin ow.." Tom whispered putting his back to the door and sliding down the frame. He felt diminished after the episode and thoughtfully rubbed his inflamed cheek. Then he remembered. _Revenge. _

Tom opened the door much more carefully this time, he scanned the hallway. No sign of anyone. Billy Pryor's room was directly opposite, decorated with a small crudely painted sign depicting the name Billy with the letters as animals. He slowly pushed on the door of Billy's room and it swung without hesitation. Billy was slumped in bed, his head lolled back against the bedstead a book open in his hands. Pryor was out for the count. Tom tiptoed across the room. He reached a small rusted cage containing a small black eyed rabbit with fur the colour of smouldering ash. "Hello my beauty." He cooed quietly and stroked a single finger along the small animal's spine. With that he crept out of the room quietly.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The screams reverberated down the corridor. High girlish ones and lower male ones on the edge of breaking. Feet stampeded up and down the creaking floorboards on the other side of his door. Tom pulled his pillow over his head and sunk down under his quilt further than before. It couldn't have been a minute past 5 o' clock and already the orphanage was bustling into life. That's when he remembered what had happened last night. The rabbit, the room, the rafters. He shuddered involuntarily. He could still feel the rabbit's silky coat beneath his fingers, the feeling of power as he swung himself onto a rafter and wielded the rope, tying a neat knot and looping the end. He stopped himself. Tom pulled off the quilt and stepped out of bed. He grabbed a grey shirt from last night and pushed his arms in the right places, he didn't bother to button it. Instead he shoved his legs into a pair of tattered corduroy knee- length shorts and rushed out into the hallway. Children were congregated in small groups, their hair tousled, their eyes bleary with sleep and clad only in pyjamas or bedsheets. Some were crying, some were screaming and others eyes were batting in a drowsy way. Billy Pryor, like the eye of a storm, was in the middle of it all. He wasn't crying instead he was a nasty ashen colour, his eyes red not from crying but lack of sleep. He had a haunted look about him. Billy seemed completely unaware of the people rushing about him, the wailing, the tears. Then he slowly looked up. His blue eyes found Tom's grey ones. 'You." His voice was a low snarl, throaty and harsh. "You." He repeated taking a step towards Tom. "Billy?" Tom asked uncertainly. Then at an incredible speed Billy Pryor flew out of his dazed stupor of grief and flung himself at Tom fists flailing. Riddle felt the hard knuckles bruise his skin, catch his jaw and send pain through his body. He fell back onto his knees and Billy bared down upon him from above his elbows sticking out his fists sending out unruly punches and slaps. Tom let them come. Satisfaction ricocheting through his body, he had hurt Billy., he had got revenge.

_Hit_

_Hit_

_Slap!_

Tom felt hands under his back, now he was barely conscious. Someone was dragging him away from Billy. Tom noted in the back of his mind that his upper lip was warm and wet with ruby blood. Billy was being restrained by several of the older boys. Their hands pulling away his limbs, he was resisting, tension echoing through his muscles visible under his t-shirt. Faces began to swim in Tom's vision, dark splodges began to cloud his peripheral. And with a single blink Tom was unconscious.

When Tom woke up he was back in his room. A bleary watered yellow sun peaked through the same bobbled curtains. The same curtains he had woken up to everyday. Apart from the annual trips to the coast. The coast. The cave.

_Amy's hand was gripped tightly around his. Dennis was sulking behind his fingers trailing after Amy's. The ground was unstable slippery layers of anthracite grey rock. Tom's scuffed plimsolls were hard to walk in but he had the advantage over the others. 'Tom?" Amy whined squeezing his hand. "Yes my love?" He asked slowly in a sweet voice quite unlike his own. "I'm tired." Of course she would be tired. Tom looked down at the fragile frame of Amy Benson. She had long blonde curls and a rather squished spoilt face. Amy Benson was completely transfixed with Tom, so of course if the handsome 9 year old asked her, a meek 7 year old, if she wanted to visit the caves with him she would jump at the opportunity. Dennis, her best friend who was wary of the Riddle boy had tagged along to keep an eye on the pair. "I'll help you?" Dennis asked hopefully but he himself was out of breath. "We don't need a chaperone." Tom snapped and Dennis grew quiet. He had no idea what chaperone meant but it was obviously intended to silence him. Tom scooped Amy up in his arms and began to carry her. "Amy?" He asked as she contentedly pressed her face into the folds of his sweater. "Do you trust me?" She murmured an incoherent reply but Tom felt her small head nod against his chest. "Kay then. We're taking a short cut." Dennis peered sceptically over the edge of the rocky coastal path to the thrashing salty grey waves below. "Yes, a short cut. Damien." _

_Dennis glared, "It's Dennis." He interjected. Tom raised an eyebrow accompanied with a smirk. "Now grab my shoulder, _Dennis." _Dennis hesitated before placing his hand on Tom's shoulder. Dennis was surprised to feel that their was no sort of strain from the weight of Amy, it was as though he couldn't feel her weight or she didn't exist. Tom bent his knees and sprung from the cliff. It happened in a blur. Dennis toppled forwards seeing multiple shades of grey and the flash of navy from Tom's sweater. Amy's hair whipped his face in long champagne tendrils. He felt his lips part in a tumbling scream. He didn't hear the scream. He couldn't hear anything apart from the rush of the wind, the thundering of sea and someone calling his name far off. Then as suddenly as it had happened Dennis felt himself smash into the rocks. He should have been seeing his life before his eyes. He should have been in pain. He should have felt the drops of his ruby blood seep out of his body and glisten on the rocks. He should have felt this. But instead he found himself lying curled in a ball on a flat rock surrounded by sea and a small portion of rocky outcrop. "Tom?"_

Tom shuddered and pushed himself up. A blinding light flashed in front of his retina.. He rubbed his eyes with vigour. He felt extremely dazed as he sat up

Tom ventured out into the hallway. A bright eyed girl sashayed her way down the hallway, she had long curls that fell untidily to her sweater clad shoulders. Her dark pools of eyes settled on his face as she passed. He noticed the thin silver chain hanging from her neck with the small emerald surrounded by small stones. She glared at him with a mixture of anger and pity. He rubbed his forehead and tugged at a curl of his hair. Slowly he made his way downstairs. Faces stared up at him in a bobbing sea. He could pick out a few of them. His head was beginning to pound. He continued to tug at his hair. The room was swimming. He turned on his heel and ran from the room, his shoulders convulsing. He collapsed into a ball in the hallway. Tom felt a hand grasp him round the shoulders and pull him into a standing position. The hands dragged him along the corridor and pushed him into his bedroom. Tom fell onto the hard mattress of his bed. He slowly raised his head. Thomas Pryor was standing at the end of Tom's bed his sandy hair ruffled across his forehead and his hazel eyes peering down at Tom. "You alrigh'?" Thomas took a small step forwards and sat stiffly on the edge of Tom's bed. "You don't hate me?" Tom asked curiously.

"Naw. Why would I hate you?" Thomas shrugged and shook his head slowly.

"Because of what happened with _Billy._" Tom spat out the other boy's name and a dark look crossed Thomas' face. "My brother was outta order Tom. He wasn't thinking, honest." Tom gave a derisive snort. "Tom, you cannae hold him to blame for that. They'd just discovered Smoky hangin' from the rafters." Tom shrugged and Thomas cocked a brow. "Unless, it was you Tom. In which case, I should'nae have jus' helped yer." Tom raised his gaze.

"It wasn't me."

"Course."

"It wasn't!"

"I believe you."

Tom examined Thomas. Thomas was a close in looks to Billy except it was as though they were two sides of a coin. Billy, short tempered. Thomas, calm. You could almost tell this from the twins appearance. Thomas was wearing a cream coloured cotton shirt and red corduroy knee length trousers with slack black braces. Thomas had messy sandy hair and kind hazel eyes. Billy had messy dark brown hair and examining blue eyes. Billy had cuts on his knuckles, a wicked grin and a mischievous streak. Thomas' skin was tanned from outdoors and his hands scratched from thorns, he liked to be outside or looking after wounded animals. That's why Thomas had pulled him along the corridor and into his room. Thomas rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a small wad of mint leaves and a slither of chocolate. Thomas broke the chocolate in two uneven pieces and handed the larger piece to Tom, he then pulled off two mint leaves and handed one to Tom. "Almost like gum eh?" Thomas asked as Tom gingerly placed the leaf in his mouth.

The boys spent the rest of the morning in Tom's room sucking mint leaves and nibbling at crumbly chocolate. _Some people care. _Tom realised with a jolt but he pushed this thought to the back of his mind and continued sucking on the mint.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own this.

Chapter 5

"Hey wait!" Tom exclaimed jogging after the jaunting frame of Thomas Pryor. Thomas turned slowly. He stood several inches higher than Tom. As he rested one side of his body against the cool brick wall and sucked in his cheeks. He was sucking mint. Tom pressed the small package into Thomas' hand and murmured, "Be discrete." Thomas gave a small nod and turned his back on Tom and headed back towards his room. Tom grabbed his coat which was on a peg and rushed out into the cold outdoors. He took a sharp breath in and doubled over. Snow had frozen into lethal pools covered in thin layers of frost. The crystal-like flakes crunched under his thick soled winter boots. Tom made his way across the concreted expanse head down, breath breath billowing out in front of his face and licking his hollowed cheeks. Finally he made it to the tall wrought iron gates and stared at the grey, dismal office blocks and shops opposite. Life was out there.

A willowy looking woman passed by, her skin was tainted grey from malnourishment and a harsh winter. She raised her gaze to Tom's and smiled sadly. Tom shook the snow out of his hair and grimaced back. Tom felt an unwelcome pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach. He saw the outline of a few round coins in her back pocket. He focused really hard on the coins turning into a thick wad of cash and turned away slowly.

Thomas made his way across the yard. He pulled his wax jacket closer around his shoulders. Tom was by the gate, his eyes closed and the wind ruffling his hair. Thomas reached him and stood by Tom's side, he looked sideways. Tom turned slowly until his eyes met Thomas'. "What did you wish for." Thomas queried. "For that woman to have money in her back pocket. " Thomas nodded slowly and crinkled his forehead. "Money isn't everything." Tom bit his lip and looked up at his friend. Thomas blew out his cheeks. "Money can't buy you love."

"It can buy you mint leaves." Thomas laughed. Tom crinkled his brow.

"I don't get it, what's so special about love anyway." Tom looked up at the older boy, whose face was pressed up against the wrought iron bars of the tall gates.

"Not sure." Tom looked down unsatisfied with his friend's answer.

"Thomas?"

"Mhmm?"

"Have you ever been in love?" Thomas' eyelashes fluttered against his cheek bone at the comment, they caught stray flakes of drifting snow. "Past tense? Yes." Tom looked up confused only to realise that Thomas was walking away. He pouted his mouth ready to shout before stopping short, giving the grey street a final look and following at his friend's back.

**HEY READERS, I KNOW THERE AREN'T MANY OF YOU :'( BUT REVIEW! THIS IS MERELY A FILLER CHAPTER SO IT'S NOT MY BEST WORK I JUST NEEDED TO UPDATE SO IT CAN MOVE ALONG….:D**


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Look guys, sorry to get your hopes up, but I'm not J.K. Rowling….

Chapter 6

Tom curled up under his duvet with a sigh. Someone downstairs was knocking at the door. He felt like getting up and yelling at them, "Go away!" But he didn't want to leave the warm, feather-down sanctuary of his bed for the cold, dormant wooden floorboards. Anyway, someone else would answer the door with ruffled hair and a grim expression- not him, not today. His room was a mess. Which wasn't like him, normally it was kept to a metalicious level of cleanliness with his clothes kept freshly ironed and starched inside his wardrobe, his underwear and socks folded neatly in a drawer below. Today the contents of said drawers had been strewed across the whole room. He rolled over and glared furiously at the flickering lightbulb. Rubber soled shoes squeaked somewhere down the corridor, feet drummed on the wooden staircase and hinges creaked. He could hear the low rumble of a man's voice in the hallway. Who would be visiting at this time in the morning? Tom rolled out of bed and gathered his sheets around his hips. After a few paces he came face to face with his reflection, his hair sticking up at the back, his eyes unfocused with sleep and his bare chest pale. Tom pulled a grey shirt over his head and shrugged on a patched blazer. He picked a pair of dark cords and pulled them on hurriedly. Kicking his sheets back onto the bed and fetching this laundry into neat piles and quickly tidying his room. Dropping to his knees, Tom pressed his ear to the dusty floorboards and tried to make as little sound as possible. He could hear certain unclear words drifting up. "In all these years…"

"Never a family visit."

"Incidents."

"Nasty."

"Tom." His breath caught in his throat and an icy sort of fear twisted at his innards. They were coming for him. Someone had told the police about Billy's rabbit, about the beach, about it all. Or even worse, someone had told doctors, psychiatrists, men in white coats. The man downstairs was going to come and take him away to some sort of institute.

"Tom? You have a visitor." Mrs. Cole's voice was muffled by the oak but it still sent shivers up his spine. _Time to face the music Tom_. He told himself and took a breath before opening his door. The man he had been expecting wasn't what he had been expecting. Rather than the clean-cut, recently shaved, short wiry hair, expressionless face there stood a tall thin man with wickedly bright eyes and long auburn hair, he had a matching beard in the same shade of reddish brown. He bent forward in a half bow and inspected him over the rim of his half moon spectacles. "How do you do Tom?" He asked quietly, the man spoke with a deep, clear, assured voice. It was evident from his tone he didn't expect a reply. Tom turned away to face the window and spoke so quietly that he didn't accept the man to hear, "You're one of those doctors ain't ya?" The man stiffened.

"No, I'm a professor." The man matched Tom's quiet tone. _Yeah right. _He bit back his retort. "I don't believe you." He said simply before adding. "She wanted me looked at. They think I'm, different."

"Well perhaps they're right?" Who did this man think he was?

"I'm not mad." Tom spat with a slight hint of venom. The man cocked an eyebrow. "Hogwarts is not a place for mad people, Hogwarts is a school." Tom looked at him blankly. The man leaned forwards as though he was ready to tell a secret. "A school of magic." Maybe it was this man who needed looking at. "You can do things can't you Tom?" His breath caught in his throat for the second time this morning. "Things that other children can't." Tom looked down.

"I can make things move without touching them, I can make animals do what I want without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who are mean to me, I can make them hurt." He shrugged. "If I want. Who are you?" The professor sat back with his hands behind his head. The man cleared his throat.

"I'm like you Tom, I'm different." Tom crinkled his brow.

"Prove it." Click. Tom's wardrobe burst into flames. The heat spread across the room and licked his cheeks. He could see the orangey glow reflected in the glass of the professor's spectacles. A welling wave of anger built up inside Tom and he wanted to attack the man. He restrained himself and slumped back onto the bed. "I think there's something in there trying to get out." Tom's eyes opened in shock in spite of himself. The box. The little wooden box with the silver decoration on top that lay nestled in an old pyjama shirt. The professor gave him a knowing look. Tom walked across the room and swung open the doors of the wardrobe gingerly. To his surprise, it wasn't even warm. Maybe magic did exist. He pulled out the box and rested it on the bed. Stepping back against the wall as the man leaned forwards and opened the box. The fire went out. The professor tumbled out the contents of the box onto the green sheets. "Thievery is not tolerated at Hogwarts Tom." Tom closed his eyes, blocking out the image of the stolen yo-yo and other items. "At Hogwarts you will not only learn how to use magic but also how to control it." Tom ignored me. "You understand me?" Tom gave a small nod. The man turned to leave but Tom stopped him with the words. "I can talk to snakes too." The professor turned. "They find me, whisper things. Is that normal for people like me?" The man's eyes flickered around the room. He turned away with a sad smile before disappearing in a twist of plum robes.

Tom collapsed onto his bed with a grimace spread across his face. He was a wizard.

**HEY GUYS, IT'S ME! THE WORDS HERE BETWEEN TOM AND ALBUS ARE FROM THE FILM NOT THE BOOK, I WOULD HAVE USED THE EXACT WORDS FROM THE BOOK BUT I RECENTLY MOVED HOUSE AND MY BOOKS ARE IN STORAGE…SO ENJOY! REVIEW!**


	7. Chapter 7

_Hog-warts. Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hogwarts School of…..Magic. _

Tom grinned stupidly. He was finally leaving this godforsaken hell-hole. He'd be leaving behind Forster and Ward and their horrible pranks. He'd be leaving behind Billy Pryor and his furtive glances and glacial glares. He was going to be free. On his bed was a plum velvet pouch, stitched in gold was the Hogwarts Crest. Filled with money. His money. Tom grinned again. He wanted to be in Gryffindor. "Where the brave at heart dwell!" Tom recited to his reflection in the dusty mirror. Tom picked up his plain black tie from his bed behind him and knotted it around his neck with a flourish. He then shrugged on a loose black sweater and faced himself seriously. Did he look like a…_wizard? _Tom bit his lip to suppress a laugh. He was going to be a lion, tall and proud. He was going to stand tall over Ward and Forster next summer, he was going to have a wand. A wand. A wand was as good as a sword. Better even. He could cut down Ward, lacerate Forster. Tom allowed himself a exhaled breath of a laugh. He was going to rule the orphanage. A twelve year old king. _King Riddle_. Tom smirked at the boy, the _King _behind the glass.

"Tom! Are you ready yet?"

_This was it. _Tom gave his tie one last tug and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Tom made his way along the cramped street, his wide eyes searching for the entrance to _Diagon Alley. _ Even the name sounded magical. He was surrounded by Christmas shoppers on every side. A wireless radio boomed out from a bottle green store front selling clothes for young adults.

"And with only 12 days till Christmas the streets are crammed! Looks like it's going to snow tonight!" The presenter boomed out to the masses. Tom rubbed his temples furiously. _Where on Earth was this pub? The Leaky Cauldron? Yes that sounds about right. _He blinked several times. There was still no sign of this pub. Of course, he couldn't ask a muggle for directions- it was invisible to them and he had no way of knowing who was a wizard or witch either. Tom sighed exasperatedly and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was beginning to wish he'd accepted the offer for Dumbledore to accompany him. Then he looked up and saw it. A slither of a building. It couldn't have been more than two metres across and looked as though it was three stories high. The building itself looked as though it had been pressed in between the two buildings on either side resulting in it having a warped effect. The glass in the windows looked rippled and the middle was slightly introverted. A shabby sign outside depicting a black cauldron with a frothy green liquid seeping out of top and THE LEAKY CAULDRON in thick gold letters. Tom allowed himself a grin and made a bee-line towards the strange building, not particularly caring whose path he was crossing. The doorway was stooped and blackened with dirt and age as Tom ducked in. The inside was cavernous. Small scrubbed wooden tables were littered around the room. Lit by creamy candles that seemed to have been used many times before judging by the magnitude wax spilling across the table. Tom nervously approached the high bar where a gangly pale man was cleaning glasses with a blackened cloth. The man looked up with a smile displaying yellowed, crooked teeth. Tom grimaced back.

"Lookin' for 'Ogwarts lad." The man asked. Tom nodded stiffly and the man pointing his rag-holding hand at a large oak door. ""Ere. I'll tap the bricks fer ya." The man declared coming out from behind the bar and shaking Tom's hand roughly. The man led Tom towards the door and opened it for him before ushering him through. They were met by a small, square courtyard with a brick wall on all sides and cobbles underfoot. The man stepped forward and drew his wand from the pocket of his patched black robes. The man proceeded to tap a pattern out of the bricks. As though by magic, Tom smirked at the thought, the bricks began to shift themselves it messy formation that resembled an archway.

Tom took a deep breath and continued through the hole in the wall mumbling a thanks to the man before blinking once and facing Diagon Alley.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer; Hey guys. The very first bit of this chapter is taken from Harry Potter and The Philosophers Stone written by the fantastic J.K. Rowling! I don't own this I've just changed the names around. The first paragraph is all Rowling's and Tom's letter but anything after that has been written by me even though Diagon Alley, all the characters, shops and anything else you recognise belongs to J.K.

Enjoy!

Tom wished he had eight more eyes... There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments he'd never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon.

He glanced resentfully at the velvet bag. A mere hour ago the small plum bag had held so much promise, the promise of a new life, a fresh start. Now however it seemed far too small, far too empty to carve out his fresh start in this dazzling alley. Tom shook his head angrily. He pulled out his crumpled sheet of parchment and examined it with his eyebrows knitted together in thought.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL_

_Of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY _

_Headmaster: Armando Dippet _

_Dear Master Riddle,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely, _

_Armando Dippet_

_Headmaster _

Tom's eyes scanned the page thoughtfully. _Master Riddle._ It had quite a nice ring to it. He flipped the page over to reveal a list of what he would need for his first year.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL_

_Of WHICHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_UNIFORM_

_First-year students will require:_

_ sets of plain work robes (black)_

_ plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_

_ pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_

_ winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)_

_Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry nametags._

_COURSE BOOKS_

_All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_

_by Miranda Goshawk_

_A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot_

_Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling_

_A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch_

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_

_by Phyllida Spore_

_Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger_

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _

_by Newt Scamander_

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_

_by Quentin Trimble_

_OTHER EQUIPMENT_

_1 wand_

_1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

_1 set glass or crystal phials_

_1 telescope_

_1 set brass scales_

_Students may also bring and owl OR a cat OR a toad._

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS_

Tom sighed and rubbed his left temple with his free hand. He had no idea where to even start on this seemingly endless cramped alley. Tom decided to start with his uniform. He would need three sets of plain robes first. Tom tugged open the small bag and gently tipped its contents out onto his outstretched palm. 13 big gold coins, 18 smaller silver coins and about 50 of the tiny bronze coins. Tom was tempted to enter the first robe shop he could see, Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions. Instead he looked further on at the rather dingy storefront with Second Hand Robes embossed on the brick outer wall.

The shop had a very low ceiling and was filled with several aisles of robes varying in colours. There were pieces of parchment stuck to the end of the aisle detailing the size of the robes on that aisle in particular. Tom glanced down at his slender frame and headed to the far end of the shop where the smaller sizes were stocked. Tom picked out three less worn pairs of black robes and a thick winter cloak with tarnished silver fastenings. Tom walked cautiously over to the squat little witch behind the counter and placed his items down. She looked up at him grumpily before shoving her hand towards him. "1 Galleon and 6 Sickles." The woman ordered.

"Do you sell hats too and-" he consulted his letter, "Protective gloves?" Tom asked timidly and she affirmed so gruffly. The woman reached under the scrubbed counter and pulled out a slightly disheveled pointed hat and a battered pair of small black gloves.

"That'll be 1 Galleon and 19 sickles then." Tom slowly counted out the coins and she tapped her foot impatiently. Tom placed them in her palm carefully and she shoved the robes into a paper bag.

"Excuse me." Tom asked quietly and the witch looked back up at him.

"Yes?" She asked making it perfectly obvious that it was not a conversation that she wished to be making.

"Do you know where I could find second hand scales, glass phials and a cauldron?" He asked trying to be as polite as possible. Her eyes softened slightly, obviously sensing his discomfort.

"There's a junk shop about three doors down from me. I'd recommend getting any phials from there and check the scales work. I'd recommend to go for a new cauldron as if it's faulty you won't want potion spilling all over you. Go to Potage's Cauldron Shop for your cauldron. You're going to have to splash out a bit if you want a good quality one," Tom grinned sheepishly at her.

"Thank you!" Tom rushed out of the shop and headed three doors down as instructed before he was faced with a slither of a shop so insignificant and grimy one could have easily missed it. Tom glared fiercely in the stained window trying to make out any sign of life inside. After seeing what Tom could only presume was the shadow of some form of shopkeeper he hesitantly pushed on the stooped wooden door at the front of the shop. As the door swung open and created a track in the thick layer of dust on the floorboards a bell tinkled overhead. Tom slowly raised his eyes from the dusty floor to look at the shop. It looked like the result of a child who had been told to tidy his room and had instead shoved everything into a confined space. There was a towering pile of junk. Smashed pocket watches, uneven scales. Tom sighed and began rifling through the pile.

Almost an hour later Tom emerged victorious from a pile of junk with a set of tarnished bronze scales, three dusty phials and a large clunky ancient telescope. After handing 15 sickles to the grimy looking man behind the counter Tom headed off towards Potage's Cauldron Shop as directed by the witch in the robe shop.

His eyes nearly popped out of his head when the young wizard in Potage's asked for a whole galleon for his pewter cauldron. He handed it over with a feeling of remorse at the big shiny gold coin leaving his possession.

Tom sighed as he consulted his list once more while balancing his cauldron which he had put everything else in on his hip.

Tom had managed to locate all the books he needed in a second hand bookshop even if half of them were missing covers and had cramped hand writing in the margins. But they were his books, he had magical possessions, these books had already been to Hogwarts, the potions textbook had traces of a green potion along the bottom of the pages, what did this potion do? Would it turn you into a frog or kill you instantly?

He arrived outside the gates of the orphanage in a daze, he was actually a wizard.


End file.
